


Through the Wall

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Edging, F/M, Light Angst, Light Smut, Neighbor au, college!mj, fuck you sophie i did it!, fuckboy!peter, this was supposed to be just smut but it got out of hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-10-25 06:45:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17720132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: mj can hear everything her new neighbor does through their shared wall. and all he wants to do, it seems, is have sex at four in the morning. mj has a problem with that.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> hello! and welcome to 'hanna doesn't have motivation to do any of her ongoing stories!' so basically in this one shot their personalities are kinda swapped, so mj is a lil awkward and peter is the confident one. anyways i hope you enjoy!!! <3

The first time MJ heard it, she could’ve sworn she was going crazy. It was quiet, at first, nothing more than tiny squeaks and low grunts. So quiet she thought she was making it up. It was four in the morning, and she had been studying for hours; who in their right minds would’ve been awake at that hour?

 

Then, when MJ decided to give up on her Biology 101 assignment and to slide into bed, it got louder. She could hear a woman’s desperate pants and a man containing his moans, and the headboard banging into the wall, over and over again, making a sound that echoed through MJ’s empty bedroom. 

 

Her neighbor was having sex. At four in the morning. Who did that?

 

MJ had just moved into her first New York apartment, and was beyond the moon happy with it. She had been living in the NYU dorms for the first two years, and that was a good transition from her suburban Michigan roots into the bustling city of New York. But finally getting that apartment felt like true freedom for MJ. No stuffy RA’s, no roommate who would distract MJ from her studying-- just MJ, alone, in a space that was her’s. She could do anything she wanted there.

 

Anything expect sleep, apparently. As her neighbor and their partner continued to pick up the pace, MJ felt like the bedposts were going to burst through the walls. She understood that sex was apart of life--a part of life MJ had only participated in a handful of times--but it was inconsiderate of them to be doing it at that time of day. The woman’s screams of, “Oh, god, faster!” was probably preventing the whole building from sleeping.

 

MJ kept her mouth shut, though. She went to class the next morning and only ranted to her best friend, Liz, a handful of times. “I’m  _ exhausted _ because my neighbor can’t keep it in their pants! I should have a talk with them, if they do this again.”

 

“MJ, please don’t do that. I’m  _ begging you _ , don’t do that. We all have sex. Well, everyone but you. Is that why you’re so upset about this?” Liz nudged MJ’s shoulder, and took one of her mini-cookies.

 

MJ gasped. “I- I have sex! It’s just been a while.”

 

“The last time you told me, was two years ago. Oh my God! I had the best idea, you should go ask your neighbor to--”

 

“No,” MJ cut Liz off, knowing what she was going to say. She collected her papers that were sprawled across the table and stood up. “No. Absolutely not. My neighbor and I-- nope. If I ever talk to them, it will be to ask if they could please shut up.”

 

“Please, don’t. That is so embarrassing.”

 

MJ scoffed and turned her back to her friend, rapidly walking away. They had class together in ten minutes, but she was so flustered that she couldn’t look at Liz’s face any longer.

 

When she returned home that night after work, at about one in the morning, MJ saw a couple making out in front of her door. Or, maybe not a couple. He stopped to ask her, “What’s your name again?”

 

“ _ Gwen _ ,” the woman spat back. “Why isn’t your door unlocking?” Gwen started pawing away at the man’s button up shirt. That was MJ’s neighbor, or so it seemed.

 

“That’s  _ my _ door,” MJ piped up from the end of the hall. She breezed past multiple doors to get to her’s, and dug out her key. Gwen and her neighbor were staring at her with confusing. “Do you mind?”

 

They moved out of her way. Gwen’s hands were in her neighbor’s hair as they walked a few paces to the left, and MJ could see her tongue gliding across his jaw.  _ Gross _ , she thought to herself.

 

When she pushed her door open, MJ realized that was the first time she had seen her neighbor. Admittedly, he was attractive; with curly brown hair and a seductive grin and eyes that he knew how to work. He looked back at MJ, who was still staring. “Wanna join?” he smugly asked as he got his own door open.

 

“I’m okay,” MJ said, rushing into her home.

 

The apartment walls were way too thin. Every single shift the mattress felt, traveled in waves to MJ’s room in a scream. She just wanted to sleep.

 

The next time it happened, her neighbor was with a different girl. MJ didn’t catch her name. And, the morning after, even though Liz had begged her not to, MJ knocked on his door. 

 

MJ’s breath hitched when he opened the door. A towel was loosely hugging his hips, and his chest and abdomen glistened. He was incredibly fit; his abs and arms were like marvels. “Hello?” he asked, when MJ hadn’t said anything yet. She was distracted.

 

“Uh… I- I’m your new neighbor. My name is Michelle Jones-- or, or MJ. Either one is fine.” Her face was flushed, and she couldn’t seem to peel her eyes away from her neighbor’s glorious, intriguing body. In a totally artistic sense. MJ wanted to draw him, that’s all.

 

“I’m Peter Parker. And I would’ve been Peter Parker a few hours from now, too, instead at eight in the morning.”

 

“Well--”

 

Then, at that moment, a girl pushed passed the two of them. Her hair was, also, wet, but she was clothed in party attire, holding her shoes in her hand. She didn’t look back at either of them as she left.

 

“Looks like you were already awake,” MJ pointed out. “Anyways, can you please refrain from performing your loud activities at four in the morning? Our bedrooms share a wall, and I have early morning classes.”

 

Peter looked up pensively for a second, then shook his head with a grin. “No can do. I’m a very busy person, and that’s the only time I have.”

 

“Then can you be quiet about it? Or go to her apartment?” she said. 

 

MJ had planned a whole speech for him, where she would’ve started with, ‘I’m your new neighbor, and I hope we can be friends, but please stop fucking at ungodly hours.’ (Or something along those lines.) But he opened the door and looked like  _ that _ . Like his body was made by a Greek sculptor. If he hadn’t made her flustered, MJ could’ve bet that Peter would have agreed to her terms--she wasn’t reigning debate champion four years in a row for nothing.

 

However, he did. And MJ knew how he was going to respond next.

 

“Quiet isn’t in my vocabulary. All the  _ things _ I need are here, as well.”

 

“ _ Things _ ?” MJ repeated.

 

“Don’t make me spell it out for you, Michelle.”

 

Jesus Christ. Her neighbor was a sex freak. 

 

“Fine. Don’t be a respectful person; but just know that  _ I _ don’t have to be one either.” MJ turned away, and stormed to her own door.

 

“You’ve already invaded my privacy!” Peter screamed, laughing. “Listening in on my personal interactions? That’s creepy, Michelle.”

 

“Y-you’re a dick,” she stuttered out. She noticed that his towel had gotten lower, but wasn’t going to think about; her parents were right, all New Yorkers were assholes.

 

“Tell me, did I sound like I was doing good? Did it--”

 

MJ put up her middle finger and angrily disappeared into her apartment. Peter could get his dick sucked all he wanted, she decided, but MJ didn’t want to be apart of it. She didn’t want to hear it.

 

He was going to be sorry for acting like that.

 

The night after, Peter was having sex, again, at three-thirty. MJ blasted Kidz Bop songs on her speaker and put it against the wall, and heard the girl Peter was with say, “I can’t do this while listening to that. It’s- it’s creepy.”

 

And the time after that, Liz was over at MJ’s apartment. They heard the muffled groans begin and Liz said, “You can really hear everything, huh?” MJ agreed, and proposed a plan that she was only somewhat confident in. It was for them to get into a fake argument, to scream their heads off at each other and maybe throw some things into the wall-- basically, to cause enough ruckus to make Peter and his date uncomfortable.

 

MJ and Liz fake-argued over MJ’s fake boyfriend. They came up with a name on the spot--Harry--and Liz cried apologetically, “I didn’t mean to have sex with him! It just happened!”

 

“You gave my boyfriend  _ chlamydia _ ,” MJ had spat back. They were trying to contain their laughter and they noticed how quiet Peter’s room had gotten. “Who’d you even get it from? It was my neighbor, wasn’t it?”

 

Liz covered her mouth, and they heard, “You have  _ chlamydia _ ?”

 

“What? No! I don’t have--” Peter argued. It was cut off by the sound of a door slamming.

 

“That was a little mean,” Liz whispered. But, MJ disagreed. She thought Peter deserved it.

 

MJ’s personal favorite foil was three weeks after she had moved in. She was trying to cram for her history final, and Peter was over exaggerating his moans to piss her off. So, MJ stood up, put on the first dress she could find, slipped her shoes off, and lurked into the hallway. Then, she started pounding on Peter’s door.

 

“Peter Parker! I know you’re in there,” she screamed. “It’s our  _ anniversary _ , you dick! Liz saw you leave the party with some girl. Is she in there? Show your fucking face!”

 

Silence. Good, marvelous silence.

 

“We were going to get married!” MJ continued, pounding on his door more. “Open up, dickface. I wanna see the look on your face when I give you the ring back.”

 

It swung open, and a girl rushed out of it. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I- I didn’t know!”

 

MJ felt a little bad for her. She didn’t deserve that. 

 

The girl ran for the exit, and Peter came to the door. His hair was wild, and he was out of breath as sweat trickled down his forehead. “You are a terrible, terrible person.”

 

“Takes one to know one,” MJ smirked.

 

“The next time you’re having sex, I’m doing this to you. Oh, oh but  _ wait _ \-- that would mean you’d have to actually be  _ having _ sex!” 

 

“I have sex.”

 

Peter shook his head. His hard on was still visible through his underwear, and  _ holy shit _ . “Clearly, not. Otherwise you would be fucking instead of fucking with my life. Are you jealous? Is that it?”

 

“ _ Jealous _ ?” MJ scoffed. “Of  _ what _ ? Of being another one of your hookups? Not in a million years. Not even in your fucking dreams. I’d never even think about having sex with you.”

 

“Oh yeah? Then stop staring at my dick.”

 

“I wasn’t-- Forget about it. Have fun with your blue balls tonight, Peter.”

 

He yelled down the hall after her, “I’ll just jack off, Michelle. Maybe you should do the same.”

 

Their doors slammed at the same time.

 

She didn’t see him, or even hear him, for a week after that. MJ, after a beat down from Liz about boundaries, realized that maybe she went a little too far. However, unless Peter came up to her and apologized first, he wasn’t going to hear that. MJ was far too stubborn.

 

One Sunday afternoon, she found herself in the laundry room. No one else was around, and she had her music blasting in her ears. MJ had just started a new load when she felt fingers on her shoulder.

 

She turned around, and Peter was in front of her. He was all sweaty, as his hair was sticking to his face and his shirt to his skin. “Hi,” he said.

 

“Hi,” MJ practically hissed. “What do you want?”

 

“Damn. Can’t a man to his laundry without being yelled at?”

 

“Not when you’re bothering me, no.” MJ closed the lid of the dryer and pressed start, and it began to vibrate against her.

 

“Well, we’re both going to be in here for at least an hour. I’m not leaving, because I don’t trust anyone in this building not to steal my clothes. And I wasn’t going to say anything, because then it’d be awkward.” Peter was dangerously close; she could feel his breath against her neck.

 

MJ cleared her throat. “Okay… How’s celibate life been?”

 

“As if,” Peter laughed. “I’ve just been doing it in different locations, because I was sick of hearing your bitching every day. What about you?”

 

“Oh, you know. Great. I’m focusing on my studies, so I don’t really have time for boys.” MJ brought her laundry basket close to her, beginning to fold some of her dry clothes.

 

She could feel Peter peering over her shoulder. “That’s a waste,” he sneered.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” MJ asked, turning around again, finding Peter a step closer than he was before.

 

“Your collection of sexy underwear. Who is gonna see that?”

 

“They’re for  _ me _ . They make  _ me _ feel sexy.”

 

“A thong always looks better on someone’s floor.”

 

“Do you only think about sex?” MJ said, baffled by his response.

 

Peter paused. “Yeah, pretty much. Besides, Michelle, I think you should just feel sexy no matter what you’re wearing.” His hands rested on either side of her body, against the dryer.

 

“What does that mean?” MJ whispered back.

 

“You’re sexy. That stubborn personality of your’s-- guys love it, but they don’t wanna admit it. And I think you’re pretty hot, when you aren’t busting my balls.” 

 

She hadn’t had a guy this close to her in years. She was deprived; at least, that’s what her excuse was for letting Peter stay that close. Also, it was her excuse for what she said next.

 

“You’re not so bad yourself. Like, the moments when you finally shut up, I could see how some women find you attractive.” She leaned into the tumbling dryer, her heart beginning to race.

 

“Is that all I have to do? Shut up?”

 

“That’s all.” They grinned at each other, MJ half expecting him to back away and half expecting him to take her right then and there. And the thought of her dick of a neighbor doing that--hoisting her onto the dryer, his hands exploring her body--well, MJ was ashamed to admit that she was intrigued by it. “Do you want me to show you a way how to?”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, as he hadn’t envisioned that. “Only if you’re okay with my neighbor telling us to stop. She’s kind of a prude.”

 

“I’m not a prude,” MJ denied, and she latched her arms around his neck.

 

“I don’t believe that,” he muttered. His hands grabbed her waist roughly, and it made her gasp.

 

“You only think that because you’re arrogant, and you can’t handle it when a woman isn’t throwing herself at you.”

 

Their lips brushed together. Peter closed his eyes; MJ didn’t. “Then what are you doing right now?” he said, his voice muted.

 

“Laundry,” she whispered back. “I’m just doing laundry.”

 

“Same thing here. Unless--”

 

“Unless, do you want to be doing something else?” MJ finished for him.

 

“Or someone,” Peter said.

 

“Or someone,” she repeated.

 

Peter, finally, kissed her. There was no hesitation from him kissing her for his tongue to part her lips, and only a moment after that, he was already grasping onto her thighs and lifting her up. Once MJ was on the dryer, shaking in sync with it, Peter deepened the kiss. He held her body close to his, and MJ, desperate for more, hugged him closer with her legs.

 

He moved from her lips to her jaw. As he did, Peter slid one hand up her loose tank, and grasped her breast. MJ let out a discrete moan, eliciting him to chuckle against her skin. Then, kissing her once again, that hand moved south. Delicately gliding across her stomach, his fingers stopped at the waistband of her ugly, green basketball shorts. “May I?” Peter asked.

 

Two years. It’d been two whole years since a guy had kissed her like Peter just did. She had so much pent up sexual tension inside of her, and this interaction was making her want to explode. MJ wanted any guy, she thought, and it just happened to be Peter.

 

She nodded. “Say it,” Peter demanded.

 

“ _ Yes _ , you may.”

 

His fingers delved under her shorts, over her underwear, and gingerly pressed into her. He was testing the waters. “Keep going,” MJ begged.

 

Peter complied. He moved the fabric out of his way, and sent chills up her spine when his bare fingers touched her. He moved them back and forth, massaging her clit, and all the while the dryer shook beneath MJ. She moaned into his mouth and then-- he slid one finger inside of her.

 

Then, two. 

 

And Peter really knew how to use them.

 

With the unoccupied hand, he held MJ’s head, so their kiss never broke. He moved his fingers back and forth inside of her, making her breathing shaky and instinctively making MJ roll her hips. She tugged on his hair, gasping and moaning in his ear, maybe a little dramatically. The dryer was vibrating was sending her over the edge.

 

“God,” she moaned.  “Peter. I-- I--” She couldn’t even form words.

 

She was close to climax; her hands rummaging his body, his fingers and lips delivering this sense of intoxication. Just a little bit more, and MJ would’ve finished. Just-- just a little--  _ just _ \--

 

Peter stopped.

 

He withdrew his hand from her shorts, and stepped back in glee.

 

“What the hell?” MJ spat, out of breath. “I-- I didn’t--”

 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that, when you stop  _ me _ from finishing multiple times, it’s only fair for me to do it once.” Peter shrugged. “You know what? I think I do trust people in our building. I’m gonna take a nap.”

 

What the fuck? Peter was going to take a  _ nap _ ?

 

MJ’s shock wore off a minute later, and he had already left the laundry room. She was more frustrated than ever before--including the two years, including the times she wanted to pop Peter’s head off. And MJ wasn’t going to be able to finish herself off.

 

Well, she could have. However, she wanted Peter to do it.

 

Out of curiosity, of course.

 

MJ walked up the steps and found Peter’s apartment. She didn’t even have to knock before he opened the door and whisked her inside. “Thank god,” he said, tearing off her shirt.

 

“You’re a dick,” MJ scorned, and she started taking her pants off.

 

Peter didn’t respond; instead, he picked her up again, and carried her to the bedroom.

 

They weren’t slow, or gentle. The headboard banged against the wall in full force, and MJ had forgotten that she was practically a screamer. Peter wasn’t quiet by any means, either, but at the very least, he knew how to control his moaning.

 

Shit. Now, the next time Peter had a girl over, he’d be able to throw it in MJ’s face that  _ she _ was the loud one.

 

If he ever had another girl over after her. The next day, after a long night at work, Peter knocked on her door and asked if she wanted to have sex again.

 

And MJ wasn’t going to say no. She would’ve been batshit crazy to say no.


	2. Part Two

The first time they did it, Peter was convinced it would be the  _ only _ time. At least, he was convinced of that when they started, with Michelle hoisted up onto the washing machine and his fingers joyously exploring her, beneath the waist. His intentions were to leave her high and dry-- the same situation she had forced him into a number of times. Peter wanted her to know what it was like to be so damn close, and to not experience a release.

 

He hated expected her to follow him back to his apartment. Somewhat, Peter was convinced she hated him, and he had just caught her on a horny day. The Michelle he had come to know, the Michelle that was flustered by a flex of his arm, didn’t have the guts to follow him.

 

Peter wildly underestimated her. And he had wildly underestimated himself, as well, because the minute he left Michelle’s side, he wanted to be right back in between her legs.

 

He’d been with a lot of women, and some would argue too  _ many _ women, but Michelle-- she was intoxicating. It was difficult to explain how, because it’s not like other women didn’t do the same thing she was doing. Michelle just did it different. She was just so, so different, in the absolute best way possible.

 

The second time it happened, Peter had no clue what came over him. It was Monday, and he had just came back from class, and for the first time in a while, he didn’t feel like leaving the building. He wanted to stay home. It was  _ odd _ .

 

Then, as Peter stared up at the ceiling wondering what was wrong with him, Michelle started playing a song that was obnoxiously loud. The song never registered in his mind; it just reminded him of who was on the other side of his wall. And instead of thinking about himself, he thought about her. He thought about the way she moaned his name, and the way her fingers dragged across his skin, and the way by just existing, Peter wanted to know all about her.

 

He didn’t know how to talk to her, though. Sure, Peter knew how to flirt and how to seduce, but  _ talking _ ? Real life, serious, talking to a woman like Michelle? He simply had no clue.

 

So, desperate to see her once more, Peter knocked on her door. She opened it, and her jaw dropped and her face blushed when she saw him. “W-what do you want?” Michelle asked.

 

“I, uh…” Michelle was wearing a NASA shirt that had to have been an extra large, as it went down to her mid-thighs, making it a secret whether or not she was wearing shorts. Peter wanted to know. He  _ needed _ to know. “Wanna have sex?” he blatantly asked.

 

She let out an involuntary scoff. “Okay, sure.”

 

“Seriously?” Peter said. Did she really say  _ okay _ ?

 

“Yes! Yes, let’s have sex.” He was sure she was going to say no, and slam the door on his face. He must’ve been in shock for too long, as Michelle grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled him close to her and muttered, “Take me, Peter.”

 

She was getting more confident, and he adored it. (And, to his pleasure, Peter learned that all Michelle had on underneath her shirt was one of her sexy pairs of underwear.)

 

The third time it happened, he knew he was screwed. And he actually did go out to a bar that night, and all thought about was Michelle. Peter hardly even looked at another girl.

 

He climbed the stairs up to his apartment, and right outside his home, stood Michelle. She knocked, occasionally, and yelled his name a few times. “Peter? Are you in there?” she yelled.

 

“MJ?” he said from down the hall. Oh, right-- Peter started calling her MJ, instead of Michelle. It rolled off of his tongue mid-orgasam, and he liked the way it sounded. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping by now?”

 

“It’s only two in the morning,” Michelle answered. “And, I was waiting to see if my annoying neighbor was going to bring home another girl. So I wouldn’t be woken up.”

 

“Oh, yeah? Then why were you knocking at my door?” Peter etched closer to her, a smirk on his face.

 

She shrugged. “I- I don’t have your number, and I was trying to see if you were home or not. Obviously, not. So, how was she? She good?”

 

“I didn’t go home with anyone.”

 

“Really? That’s a shock. Everyone reject you?”

 

“I didn’t try.”

 

Michelle’s breath caught in her throat. “Wow, Peter. A low sex drive already. What will you have if you can’t have sex? Since--”

 

Peter cut her off, kissing her like he was running out of time. Fast and demanding, and Michelle kissed back the same. “Why were you outside by door, again?”

 

“Because I want you,” she whispered, her eyes closed, her hands tugging away at his belt already.

 

And, afterwards, they talked.  _ Talked _ \-- the one thing Peter wasn’t confident in doing. He was laying on his back, and Michelle’s bare chest was pressed against his as her foot ran up and down his leg. “Where’d you grow up?” she asked. Her breath tickled his abdomen.

 

“In Queens. What about you?” Peter was caressing her lower back.

 

“Some small town in Michigan. You wouldn’t know it. I came here a few years ago to go to school, and I think I was  _ made _ for this city, you know? I’ve just never felt so alive before.” 

 

“Once you live here for two decades, you’ll think differently,” he responded. “This city-- I don’t know. It’s home, it’ll always be home, but…” But, sometimes, Peter wished he could’ve been born somewhere else. Anywhere else, and maybe he would’ve been able to talk to Michelle without feeling like his tongue was going to atrophy.

 

She rested her chin on his chest and stared up at him. In the dim light of his bedroom, Michelle looked gorgeous, and relaxed, and an invasive thought popped into Peter’s head:  _ I want to stay here with you for the rest of my life _ .

 

Never, not once had Peter thought that.

 

“But what?” Michelle asked.

 

“I don’t know… This city is just really- really dangerous.” Peter held her closer, his stomach turning. “Life could’ve been so different if I lived somewhere else. But, y’know, my aunt tried to hammer into my head that life and lemons saying, so…”

 

“Your aunt? Are you close to her?” Her hand moved up and down Peter’s side, relaxing him, making him want to spill his guts. Even so, his throat was beginning to close up, and his palms began to sweat; he didn’t talk about May. Not to a therapist, not to Ned, his only friend.

 

“Yeah, I- I was. She raised me. And my uncle. I mean, she and my uncle raised me, she didn’t raise my uncle.” 

 

Michelle laughed, and her fingers began to trace circles into his chest. “What happened to your parents?”

 

This was too personal for him, too real. He shrugged his shoulders and made an unsure face, and hoped Michelle wouldn’t press for more.

 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said, seeming to have understood. “My parents used to be so strict, I felt like my entire body was turning blue. When I told them I wanted to go to school here, they almost disowned me. I’m not saying you should feel lucky, or anything, I’d never say that, but--”

 

“MJ, I get it. I did get lucky, though, with what I got. Yeah. Really lucky.”

 

This was weird. Peter felt so, so weird. His body stiffened and he felt the sudden urge to runaway as fast as possible. He had sex so he wouldn’t have to talk, and he had people to talk to when he didn’t want to have sex. Peter kept those two areas away from each other for a reason, and now, they were clashing.

 

He needed out of this conversation before he started babbling like a baby.

 

“Peter? What’s wrong?” Michelle asked, lifting her head up and placing one hand on his cheek.

 

“Nothing, yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

 

“Of course you are. Men always fall asleep after sex, and refuse to hold you. You disgust me.” She smirked, then moved forwards and placed her lips against his. After that, Michelle rolled to her side, and snuggled into the blanket.

 

A weight was lifted off of Peter’s chest, and he let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Well,” he responded, “who said I refused to hold  _ you _ ?”

 

Peter slipped an arm underneath her side and pulled his body into her’s. He kissed her shoulder as she said, “I got you, loser. That was my plan all along.”

 

He never did things like that. He never talked, he never snuggled, he never, ever felt his heart drop the way it did when Michelle left his apartment the next morning. Peter felt trapped, and overwhelmed.

 

Relationships terrified him. Every single relationship Peter had ever had, ended up like shit. Barring Ned, however, they were on the rocks.

 

And Michelle-- well, with Michelle, things were getting too comfortable. He was starting to get  _ feelings _ , and she deserved more than messed up, man whore for a boyfriend. 

 

_ Boyfriend _ . The word sent chills down his spine and Peter needed the word to never grace his mind ever again. So, the next time he felt the need to be my Michelle’s side, he went to a bar instead. Within thirty minutes, he was in his apartment, determined to forget about his neighbor while he was making out with a girl named Felicia.

 

Making out, and maybe a little more. Expect, the problem was, he couldn’t get it up. His hands roamed her body ferociously and there was  _ nothing _ . Peter felt nothing below his waist, even when her hand gripped it.

 

Felicia did things differently than Michelle did. She didn’t sound the same, she didn’t feel the same, she didn’t tease him, at all. 

 

“Are you going to--” Felicia pointed to his waist.

 

“I can’t turn it on and off,” Peter stated, a little aggressively, as he was frustrated with himself. “Just keep going.”

 

She kissed down his chest, and no-- his skin didn’t tingle in the aftermath of her lips’ movements. It just wasn’t working.

 

Peter pushed Felicia away, shaking his head in apology. “Are you serious?” she hissed. She grabbed her shirt and pulled it over her head, pissed off. “Screw you.”

 

She left his bedroom, and soon his front door slammed, and Peter felt relief. Jesus Christ, what was happening to him? All he wanted was to be with Michelle.

 

Michelle.  _ Fuck _ . Michelle probably heard everything. He bounced to his feet, put on a sweatshirt and sprinted to the hallway. He knocked on her door loudly.

 

She swung it open. “Want some condoms?” she asked, bitter.

 

“You-- you heard all that, huh?” Shame radiated through him; Peter felt like a monster.

 

There was no reason for that. They weren’t together, and they weren’t dating, and they hardly even knew each other. However, it still felt like they were  _ meant _ to know each other, and that they were  _ meant _ to be together. Peter was attached.

 

How could be possibly not be? Michelle was fantastic, and intriguing. She stood in front of him now, her nose red, and her eyes a bit puffy, and it seemed that she had felt the same way about Peter.

  
“Heard it all.”

 

“And?”

 

“And what?”

 

“Are you… upset?”

 

Michelle scoffed and started shoving the door closed. Peter caught it with his hand, and wouldn’t let go. He was stronger than her, and she didn’t fight for long before she gave up. “Not upset at all! Why would I be?” Michelle lied. “I knew what I was getting into, okay?”

 

“MJ, I didn’t have sex with her. I couldn’t. The whole time, I was just thinking about you, and, and--”

 

“Is that supposed to make me feel good, Peter? I’m so glad you were on top of another girl and thinking about me, thank you.” Michelle distanced herself from the door, trailing into her apartment, and Peter followed close behind her.

 

“MJ, you don’t get it. I--”

 

“I don’t care! Really, I don’t. You are just my neighbor, who I’ve had sex with. There’s no attachment. I couldn’t give less of a shit about who you fuck or not, so, you’re wasting your time.”

 

“Can you listen, please?” Peter asked. Michelle sat on one of her kitchen counters, trying to act casual and aloof. “I think… I think I really like you.”

 

He didn’t know what else to say, as he never had to admit something like that before. And, it was the God’s honest truth.

 

“No, you don’t,” Michelle denied. “You don’t like anyone. You like having sex with me.”

 

“MJ--”

 

“Fuck off. You can’t say shit like that to get me to sleep with you again! And-- okay, okay, maybe I’m upset. Maybe I let myself believe that you weren’t a total dickhead, and that we had a  _ thing _ . I’m just delusional, I guess.” Nervously, she ran her hands up and down her thighs, and wouldn’t stare at him for a long period of time.

 

Peter took a step closer to her. “I’m not lying, MJ.”

 

“Then why did you go to the bar, Peter? Why haven’t you talked to me since the other night? Why suddenly come to me now?”

 

“I was scared,” he admitted.

 

“Scared of what?” Peter took heavy breaths, his words getting lost somewhere inside of him. “Scare of  _ what _ , Peter?”

 

“Everybody I’ve gotten close to,” he snapped, with a shaky voice, “has died. I just-- I’ve stopped getting close to people.”

 

She gasped, her back straightening as her hands grinded to a halt. “They’ve… what?”

 

“My parents, my uncle, my aunt. And it’s not an excuse to be a shitty person but-- have you ever seen anyone die before?” Michelle shook her head. “It’s horrifying. And, I don’t want you to--”

 

“That’s not how things work,” she argued. “You aren’t a magnet for tragedy.”

 

“Aren’t I, though? I saw two of them die. I was asleep in the back of the car when it got hit, killing my parents but sparing me.” Peter’s chest was heaving. He needed more air.

 

Michelle hopped off of the counter and walked up to him so she could hold his head in between her hands. “Peter Parker, I’m not dying. And you’re right, tragedy doesn’t give you an excuse to fuck with people, so you should see a therapist, most likely. Peter, look at me.” He moved his eyes from the floor to stare into her’s. “I think you’re a great guy.”   
  
“You shouldn’t,” Peter said.

 

“Maybe I shouldn’t, but I do. I think you have a lot of potential. I think you could be a cop one day, if that’s what you still want. And I think you need to realize that I am not going anywhere anytime soon, because my parents would have a problem with it, otherwise.” Michelle let out a small, soft chuckle that made Peter’s stomach fluster. Her thumb caressed his cheek. “Do you really like me?”

 

He grabbed her wrists and kept her in place. “Yes,” he hummed. “I think you’re amazing. Is that weird?”

 

“Not weird at all. People who like each other compliment the other.” 

 

Michelle wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for an embrace. They stood like that for a while, basking in their warmth, and Peter still reeling from what he had said. 

 

She was important to him, already. To be able to say something he had repressed for years, Michelle had to be special. When he drew his head back, Peter placed a kiss on her cheek. Kindly, respectfully, like May had taught him when he was young.

 

Michelle was the one who initiated more. “We don’t have to,” she said, her voice raspy after their short make out. “If it’s not right.”

 

In his head, Peter was already canceling off meaningless sex. Sex with Michelle wasn’t meaningless, though. It felt like a milestone in his life.

 

He kissed her again, and his hands began to lift his shirt over his head. Michelle did the same with her’s, locking lips when she was free of her cage, and Peter sunk the two of them down to the kitchen floor. 

 

Peter kissed her, slowly, in no rush at all. Michelle’s hand curved around his neck and her legs locked around his back, and she started pulling him in more. Steadily, he slid his hands underneath her shorts, taking them off at a leisurely pace.

 

“C’mon,” Michelle begged. “What are we, eighty?”

 

She whipped his belt off, and unbuttoned his pants. Her fingers hooked underneath his underwear and with one fellow swoop, Michelle moved them down, exposing Peter and all his glory.

 

Peter dug into his lose pocket. When he found what he wanted, he held it between his teeth while he took off the rest of Michelle’s clothes. “Give me that,” she demanded.

 

“This isn’t for you.”

 

“I want to put it on you, Peter.”

 

Gleefully, he pressed the condom package into her hand. Michelle ripped it open and gingerly began to roll it onto his dick. Slowly, like she was in no rush at all, her fingers would graze his bare skin and would send electrical signals up his spine. She knew exactly what she was doing.

 

When she was done, Michelle kissed him again and they fell back onto the tile. Peter adjusted himself between her legs, but she stopped him before he could go further. “You sure you want to?” Michelle checked.

  
“Yes, I’m sure. Are you?”

 

She nodded excitingly.

 

Peter entered her, and they both shared a gasp. He rocked his hips back and forth, kissing her with hunger, one hand grabbing her breast. Michelle’s fingers dug into his back when he bit her lip. She tried altering his speed by pulling and releasing with her legs.

 

Peter understood, and buried himself inside of her faster. She arched her back and moaned into his mouth. “Peter,” she cried, desperate for more. “Faster.”

 

And, faster he went. Their hips snapped together and detached, his speed generous and each thrust harder than the last. He didn’t know how long he could last, that night, with Michelle panting in his ear, and his body already preparing for a release.

 

Peter grabbed onto her hand, interlacing his fingers with her’s, and held it above her head. She gripped onto his hand hard, putting more pressure on it every time her body moved.

 

“Fuck,” Michelle gasped into his ear. Peter was kissing her jaw, and she began to roll her body. Her moaning grew louder, and he knew she was almost close, but he couldn’t--

 

“Shit,” Peter apologized. He came, too early. “Did you--”

 

Her chest rose and fell fast. “No. It’s no big deal, though. I’ll get you back for it, next time.”

 

“Next time?” he asked, still hovering above her.

  
“Yes,  _ next time _ . Because I’m not going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasnt planning on adding a second part but yall made me! hope you guys enjoyed this part, and i hope i didnt totally let you down if u were hoping for too much :) thank you for reading!
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	3. Part Three

Whatever they were, lasted a month.

 

Five weeks of uninterrupted nights of sleep, accompanied by Peter, who somehow always found his way into Michelle’s bed. Some nights he’d lurk in, unannounced and would scare her half to death. “Sorry,” he would mumble, as his arm crossed her waist, and his legs curved into her’s. “I couldn’t fall asleep.” Other nights, he was already there.

 

Five weeks of feeling like the most adored person in the universe. Peter was romantic, if you could believe it. He cooked her dinner and drew her bubble baths for the nights she was most stressed, and could always say the right things at the right time. It was crazy how he made her feel so fantastic all the time; even when he wasn’t around.

 

Michelle was still getting used to not tripping over her own words by the time they broke things off. Five weeks, and Peter had the audacity to break things off.

 

He said it was because they were getting too serious. “As if he wasn’t the one who made it serious!” Michelle ranted to Liz. “He bought he flowers and chocolate and massaged my shoulders. I didn’t do that shit for him.”

 

“Do you think--”

 

“I think he just wants to fuck random girls again,” Michelle preemptively answered. “And he’s going to do it right in my face! Well, not literally, but  _ kind of _ .”

 

It came out of nowhere, and it dumbfounded her. They were having a good time! Spending nights in each other’s apartments and having sex whenever they felt like it, with no giant tab at the bar. They laughed later into the night than they did anything else, because being in the other’s presence felt joyful. At least, for Michelle. Not so much for Peter, it seemed.

 

Maybe a switch in his head turned on when she came home one day from school, nursing a terrible bloody nose and black eye. “Holy shit--” Peter gasped, darting from the couch to her side. He took her head into her hands to survey her injuries. “What the fuck happened?”

 

“I got mugged,” she cried. “Well-- almost. I almost got mugged. He hit me a few times before I could get my switchblade out.”

 

Peter bit his lip, his eyes rapidly looking all across her skin. He looked so worried, so frustrated, as if he was damning himself for not being there. “Let’s watch a movie, Rocky.”

 

“ _ Rocky _ ?” she repeated, a wide smile growing on her face.

 

“Yeah, you know--” Peter punched the air a few times, pretending that he was boxing. “--Rocky.”

 

Michelle gaped at him and shoved him slightly. He stumbled backwards a few paces, and they both bursted into laughter. “You’re an idiot,” she said.

 

That had to have been it. There was no other reason for them to go from madly infatuated with being in each other’s presence to Peter saying, “We can’t keep doing this.”

 

Of course, there was a three day interlude between the almost-mugging and them breaking up. And Peter hadn’t acted weird during those three days. So it had to be something else. It-- it just had to.

 

Michelle was never going to get answers; after Peter had broken things off, he avoided her. He was hardly in his apartment anymore, the only sign of life being the one time she heard him talking to someone on the phone. “Yeah, Ned. I know. You don’t have to-- Yeah, I freaking  _ know _ , okay? Do you mind if I stay another n-- Jesus, dude. I was just checking. Thanks.” Yeah, he was staying at his friend’s place so he wouldn’t have to talk to her.

 

Immature and cowardly. Those were the two best words to describe Peter Parker. However, Michelle’s heart ached with how much she missed him.

 

A month passed, then two. Michelle had been without Peter longer than she had been with him, and yet, she still left messages under the door. ‘ _ Talk to me _ ,’ they read. ‘ _ Don’t be stupid _ .’ ‘ _ Fine. Be a bitch _ .’ She just wanted a conversation. Was that too much to ask?

 

Liz was sick of hearing Michelle’s complaining. “I set up a date for you,” she said one evening, after listening to her rant for an hour. “His name is Harry Osborn, a trust fund kid but… but he’s nice! Kind of oblivious, but in a funny way. You’ll have a good time.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Michelle gaped. “I don’t-- I don’t want to go on a blind date, Liz.”

 

“No, you just wanna mope in your room about your neighbor. All you guys had was  _ sex _ , MJ.”

 

“No! No, that’s not true. We had a con--”

 

Liz cut her off. “‘ _ We had a connection _ ,’” she mocked. “‘ _ We talked for hours and I felt like I-- _ ’ Who cares? Two months, MJ. It’s time for you to get over it. And who better to go out with than some hot, daft rich kid who will buy you an expensive meal?”

 

“Liz--”

 

“You’re going. End of. Because if I have to hear about Peter fucking Parker one more time--” Her eyes widened intentionally and she strained her neck. “You get the picture.”

 

Liz made a reservation right there, on the spot. Then she called Harry to tell him about the date, and as Liz predicted, Harry jumped on the chance. “Yeah, I mean, I had plans but-- I can clear my schedule. My dad’s always in town so… Yeah. I’ll meet her there.”

 

She met him at the upscale restaurant that Saturday evening. Michelle was wearing a simplistic red cocktail dress, one thate Harry complimented all too much. He was awkward, unappealingly so, as he could hardly get any words out around her. He reminded her of herself. It was offsetting. 

 

“Sorry, you’re just really… really pretty,” Harry managed, gulping down his water.

 

“Oh! Thank you. You’re very handsome, Harry.” Liz wasn’t lying; Harry had a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, and if Michelle had seen him in a bar, she would’ve kept her eye on him. 

 

A bar would’ve been a better setting than a sit down restaurant. Because that way, Harry probably would’ve been drinking, and he probably would’ve been more interesting. He was talking about his business. No, not his. His  _ father’s _ business. “That I’m inheriting,” he added. “So it’s practically mine. As soon as he feels ready to give it up.”

 

“Isn’t he the mayor, though?” Michelle asked. “I thought politicians couldn’t run their own company while in office. Or is that just the president?”

 

“I don’t really know, honestly. He knows how to pull strings, though, so…” Harry took another drink of water. “Where is that waiter, huh?”

 

Michelle glanced around the room, trying to pinpoint their server. Then, she spotted him; Peter Parker stood in the far corner of the restaurant, near the hostess stand. He was wearing a suit, with the top buttons of his shirt unclasped, revealing enough skin to drive Michelle wild. This was the first time she’d seen him in two months, and he was standing next to a shorter blonde.

 

Was he-- was he on a  _ date _ ?

 

He never took Michelle on a date.

 

Oh, god. He couldn’t see her. If he saw her, then she’d have to shrivel up into a ball, and then she’d be the one who was ruining her date. And she couldn’t have that.   
  


“MJ?” she heard. Fuck. Peter spotted her. He was walking across the restaurant, the blonde trailing behind him.

 

“M- MJ?” Harry repeated. “I thought your name was Michelle.”

 

“It’s a nickname,” she shrugged. Peter was now standing at the edge of their table, his knuckles drumming into the wood. “Uh, Harry Osborn, this is Peter Parker.”

 

Peter took Harry’s hand. “Nice to meet you, man. Betty Brant, this is my neighbor. Michelle Jones.”

 

“Or MJ,” she said to Betty. “Either one. I hardly care.”

 

“Neighbor, huh?” Harry asked. “What a small world. Are you two close? Would you want to join us for dinner?”

 

_ What _ ?

 

“Excuse me?” Michelle blurted.

 

Peter and Betty exchanged sly glances, and instantly, he flagged down a waiter. “We’d love to. Excuse me,” he said to the server. “Could you pull up two chairs, please?”

 

The waiter grimaced, but nevertheless, he did what he was asked. Peter was sat right next to Michelle, across from Betty. “You look nice,” he whispered in her ear when they were ordering.

 

“Screw off,” she said back. “How did you even know I was here?”

 

Harry was ordering his meal specialized-- no olives, put the dressing on the side, make sure it’s  _ this _ type of lettuce, and not the other type. He needed the meat to be lukewarm, not scolding hot and not freezing cold. It was exhausting listening to him.

 

“I didn’t. I was taking Betty to a nice dinner, and we just happened to run into you.” Now Betty was ordering, and she was asking questions about the lasagna. “You look really good, MJ.”

 

“You already said that, Peter. Don’t think you can just compliment me and--” The waiter turned to Michelle. She cleared her throat, taking note at how everyone’s eyes were pasted onto her. “I’ll have the french onion soup.”

 

“Me too,” Peter copied. 

 

Betty was sweet. She was in school to become a pharmacist, and had known Peter since high school. She kept judging Michelle’s question on how long they’ve been together. “Oh… well, time’s a made up thing, right?” Other than that, she was just… nice. There was no reason for Michelle to have this burning, stabbing pain in her abdomen every time she heard Betty speak. 

 

Harry wasn’t having a good time. Michelle was preoccupied talking to Peter— if you could call sarcastic comments talking. He tried interrupting a few times, asking them both questions, but he ended up talking to Betty most of the time. 

 

Peter’s hand found his way to Michelle’s thigh when the appetizers came out. She grabbed his wrist and pushed it away. “I’m on a date with someone else,” she said. 

 

“Tell that to him,” Peter pointed out. Harry was looking at Betty like she was a princess; he had probably gotten a buzz from his Diet Coke. 

 

“Maybe if you’d leave me alone, I could.”

 

“ _ Leave you alone _ ? Haven’t you wanted to talk to me for months? I’m talking now. C’mon, MJ. What do you want to know?” He smiled at her, like he was winning some game. 

 

From across the table, Betty was yawning at one of Harry’s work stories. Michelle sighed, “I can’t talk about it here.”

 

“Why not?” Peter asked.

 

“Because I feel like tearing your head off, and I can’t do that if I’m sitting at this table.”

 

Michelle’s leg jostled under the table, and she was trying her hardest not to look at Peter. He was breathtakingly attractive, and maybe it was the two months they were apart making him so desirable, but it didn’t matter. If she looked at him for too long, she would’ve gotten lost in his stupid eyes, and would’ve followed whatever he had said.

 

“Well, we could go back to my apartment,” Peter said, his words rolling off his tongue. His hand went back to her thigh, his fingers moving under the fabric of her dress.

 

She let out a muffled hum as his bare skin touched her’s. “Betty is right there,” Michelle argued. “Harry is, too. We can’t-- we can’t just leave.”

 

“Okay, so, we won’t leave. They have bathrooms.” He got closer, inching his hand higher and higher.

 

“ _ Peter _ ,” Michelle hissed.

 

“What? I want you, MJ. Fuck, you look so gorgeous.”

 

Alright. If Peter wanted to get her alone, he was going to succeed. Michelle needed to get her words out.

 

She picked up her glass of red wine and took a large gulp. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced to the whole table, taking note of the disappointment that crossed Peter’s face when she did so. Then, Michelle intentionally placed the glass on the edge of the table. It fell over, spilling everywhere over her.

 

Peter caught the glass before it fell to the ground, but as Michelle’s hands flew out, she (also intentionally) knocked his beer over. It poured onto the table, and began to stain his white dress shirt.

 

“Son of a--” he yelled as he stood up, and knocked his chair back.

 

“Quite clumsy, sorry,” Michelle said. “Let’s go find a bathroom.”

 

“What?” She took his wrist, leading him deeper into the restaurant. “ _ Oh. _ Yeah, let’s.”

 

The bathrooms were both unoccupied, but she shoved both of them into the farthest one down. “I can’t believe I did that for you,” she groaned. “This dress was  _ expensive _ . And it’s the only one I have.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Peter teased. Michelle was standing by the skin, dapping wet paper towels across the fabric, and he came up behind her and ran his hands up and down her arms, his chest pressed against her back. She wanted to melt into him. “That was genius, MJ.”

 

He moved her hair so he could pepper a kiss on her neck. God, it felt like heaven.  _ No _ . This wasn’t what Michelle had wanted to do.

 

“Peter, you’re an asshole,” she said, turning around to face him. “What right do you have just ruining my date like that?”

 

“Didn’t look like a very fun date. You should thank me, really. Harry is as interesting as a thesaurus.” His confidence was  _ annoying _ .

 

She pressed her finger into his chest and pushed him backwards. “Thesauruses can be very enlightening, not that you would know. You think you can ignore me for two months and act like everything is okay?”

 

“I know, I know. I just missed you, MJ. And I’ve been figuring things out, and--”

 

“So you come here with another  _ girl _ ?” Another shove. “That’s not the way to sweep me off my feet, especially if she’s your girlfriend.”

 

“She’s not my girlfriend! She’s my friend’s girlfriend, and I kinda begged her to come with me tonight. I heard you planning this through the wall, and--”

 

Another one. “You only like me when I’m unavailable to you, Peter. When I was your neighbor who hated you, that’s when you wanted me. When I’m on a date with another guy, that’s when you want me. Well, who says I want you?”

 

“The fact that your in here with me kinda says you do.” One last hard shove. Peter’s back was against the wall, and his head hit the tile. “Okay, okay. MJ, I freaked. I haven’t ever been in a relationship, and you’re so… so amazing. I’m undeserving of you.”

 

“Oh, don’t pull that shit with me, Peter. No more sob stories. I  _ wanted _ to be with you. I wanted to go on romantic dates with you and learn about your childhood and I just wanted-- I just wanted you. You didn’t want that with me.” Michelle stood directly in front of him, their noses so close they grazed as she talked.

 

“I did. I-- I still do! MJ, you’ve gotta understand that this is all new. And that’s not an excuse. But it’s been so long since I’ve felt this… this passion for someone, and when you got mugged, it reminded me of all the reasons why I  _ don’t _ feel that way anymore.” He grabbed her hand, and brought it up to his lips to lightly kiss it. “MJ, you have to believe me.”

 

“And if I don’t?” Was she delusional to trust him? Was Michelle just desperate to be devoured by him again?

 

“Then I’ll do anything. Tell me what I have to do to get you to believe me.”

 

“Just… just stop talking,” she demanded. Her mouth drew closer to his, and slowly and hesitantly, she closed the gap between them.

 

Michelle had been deprived. Peter found her waist instantly, and as their slow kiss drew to a halt, she could tell that they both wanted more. The heat between them rose, and rose; Peter’s tongue slipping between her lips, her hand curling around his hair,  _ his _ hand already moving her dress higher up her thighs.

 

She didn’t want slow, and she sure as hell didn’t need it. Michelle spaced on where they were-- in a public bathroom in a well respected restaurant. Was it illegal to do this? Fuck it. She’ll figure it out later.

 

Peter gripped her ass, making Michelle yelp in response. She lifted her leg instinctively, wrapping it around his waist as he hoisted her up in the hair. “You’re so hot,” he moaned against her skin. “God, I’ve missed you.”

 

He turned them around, so Michelle was the one against the wall. Peter took off the straps of her dress, and sluggishly pulled down on it to reveal her chest, as if he was nervous to do it. “Peter,” she whined. “C’mon. We don’t have a lot of time.”

 

“Right… right. Sorry.” He put his mouth on her breast, playing with her nipple with his teeth as his hand cupped the other one. Michelle moaned, even though she was sick of the teasing. She needed all of him.

 

She began tugging away at his belt. “ _ Peter _ ,” she hissed. “Take your pants off.”

 

“It’d be my honor,” he laughed, and dropped her to her feet. Michelle stepped out of her underwear as she watched Peter take a condom out of his back pocket, and then slipped out of his pants and boxers. 

 

“Is it weird that I’m excited?” Michelle blurted. Her legs were wrapped around Peter’s waist once more.

 

“God, no. I’m excited, too. Overly excited.” Peter kissed her, his smirk imprinting on her skin.

 

She bit his neck, slightly, as he entered her, trying not to be loud. Peter’s swift thrusts and exploratory hands were too much for her to handle though, and she started to let out the first of many high pitched gasps. 

 

Peter caught her moans with his lips. He held his hands on her hips, keeping her steady as his movements fastened. Michelle had been yearning for his touch for so long, she was delighted to finally receive it. Her nerves felt like they were on the outside of her body. Her heart felt like it was beating too fast for her to handle.

 

“Peter,” Michelle gasped. “Oh-- oh  _ fuck _ . Look at me.”

 

He did. His face was slightly sweaty, and one brown curl hung over his forehead. Peter’s eyes were so full of adoration, and lust, and as he bit down on his lip as he looked at her, Michelle knew he meant his words. She just-- she just knew it. And as she looked at him, his thrusts moving her against the tile, it sent her over the edge.

 

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Peter!” 

 

Peter buried his head into her neck, and picked up the intensity, making her ride through her orgasam. He kissed her shoulder. Everything came to a dead halt when his lips paused, his words fumbling, and Peter hugged her waist closer. “Oh, shit,” he moaned. “God, I missed you.”

 

“It was your own fault,” Michelle said, out of breath.

 

“Whatever.” Peter kissed her again.

 

When they returned to the table, Harry and Betty were more than suspicious, but they kept their questions to themselves.

 

It was two and a half months later when Betty finally said something. It was the night Michelle was meeting her boyfriend’s best friend, and Betty was excited to see her again. “Anyone who can have sex in a public restroom is someone I respect. And I mean that! You have guts.”

 

Michelle’s face flushed with embarrassment. She rested her head onto Peter’s shoulder and groaned. “That’s my girl,” Peter said, kissing her forehead. “She’s never been afraid to do anything.”

 

“Shut your mouth, Parker. Or you’ll be sleeping in the hallway tonight.”

 

They lived together, now. No longer neighbors, no longer had a shared wall, just a shared bed.

 

They were experts on moving fast. And it was fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thats all folks <3 thanks so much for the hype around this story! now read my other ones <3 tysm!!!
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


End file.
